


Traditions, New and Found

by Captain_Panda



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Cuddling & Snuggling, Did I Mention: Fluff?, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wholesome Family Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda
Summary: It's the spookiest time of the year! You know what that means.Time for Tony to introduce Steve to all the Halloween traditions he missed out on, and some!
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	Traditions, New and Found

**Author's Note:**

> *rings bell* Somebody order some Halloween fluff?
> 
> -Cap'n Panda

“Marco!”

“ _Go Fish_?” Steve said, forcibly parting the corn stalks standing between him and Tony.

“No, you’re supposed to say Pol—have you been doing that _this entire time_?”

Steve frowned, following Tony’s gaze to the corn rows Steve had cleared a path through. That was clearly the intent of the maze—to _get through_. “Don’t tell me you were supposed to climb _on top of_ them,” Steve said doubtfully.

“Underneath, actually—Steve,” he added, apparently amazed, as he pushed Steve aside and stared at the distinct line Steve had carved through a dozen rows of corn. “Steve, it’s a _maze_.”

“Well, it’s not a very good one,” Steve said, holding his own. “Or you wouldn’t be able to _go through it_.”

“I need to get you a monkey leash,” Tony said, shaking his head. “I’m getting you a monkey leash.” Then he turned around and proceeded to wander off again.

“I don’t see how this is supposed to be fun,” Steve called after him, waiting in place.

“That’s because you’re a killjoy,” Tony called back. “Start walking.”

“No,” Steve said.

“Fine—then live in a corn maze.”

“ _Tony_.”

* * *

“I do not like this,” Steve declared, pausing in the threshold to yet another poorly-lit, hideously disjointed room in the middle of the so-called _haunted house_ with Tony half a step behind him.

“Well, this is your punishment for the corn maze,” Tony replied, holding the back of his shirt in a firm hand. “Don’t punch anyone.”

“Why would I—” Steve growled as a spooky skeleton suddenly leapt out from the walls, immediately throwing an arm across Tony’s chest and shoving him behind himself. “ _Tony_ ,” he complained. “How is this—”

“It’s super fun,” Tony preened. “AH!” he screamed, making Steve jump, before dissolving into a fit of snickers.

“ _Tony_.”

Tony grinned. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ —”

Steve took one step forward. A spooky spider hopped out. Enough was enough: Steve grabbed it, yanked it off its web, and stomped on it once for good measure.

“You kill it, you keep it,” Tony said cheerfully, scrambling onto Steve’s back to avoid touching it.

“It’s a toy,” Steve said, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved—relieved that it was not real, disappointed that his hunting instinct was faulty. “Tony,” he added, as Tony covered both of Steve’s eyes with his arms. “Get off.”

“No, I’m not getting bit by a giant dead spider.”

“That’s not even—fine,” Steve sighed, shaking Tony’s grip loose and plowing ahead. “Need I remind you, this was _your_ idea.”

“Yes, and it was inspired—ACK!” he cried as he got a faceful of fake spider web for his troubles.

* * *

“I think you _traumatized_ that poor kid,” Tony beamed, while Steve blushed beet-red and attempted to disappear into the picnic table.

“He _was dressed_ like a _bogeyman_ ,” Steve grumbled back, moodily chugging a cup of freshly-made apple cider. Was it his fault for putting the poor kid through the fake wall? No, it was not. The kid had jumped at him, he reacted.

“I guess I know how trick-or-treating is going to go this year,” Tony said, undisguised fondness in his tone. “Actually—”

“No, we’re not doing it again,” Steve averted, setting his empty cup down.

Shrugging, Tony stood, slapped him on the back of the shoulder, and said, “All right, then follow me.”

Steve sighed. “You know, back in _my_ day—”

“Hurry up, champ, nobody wants to sit around all day,” Tony interjected.

Wishing dearly that he had taken a leaf from Natasha’s _stay at home and chill_ book, Steve got up and followed him.

* * *

“What does this have to do with Halloween?” Steve demanded, glaring at the chickens nibbling dried corn feed from his hand. “Ow— _ow_.” He shook out his hand, spilling kernels on the hay. Unperturbed, the hens pecked at the ground. “Geez, you’d think they’d have _manners_.”

“God, I love you so much,” Tony said, suspiciously holding his phone up. “And it’s called a petting zoo. It’s part of the package.” He chucked a second small bag of feed at Steve, who caught it. “C’mon, you can do it.”

“I don’t want to,” Steve grumbled, holding the bag out of reach as one of the hens, a tiny black one, tried to peck the bag out of his hand. “Hey, _manners_. Manners. Nicely,” he told her, spilling a bit of feed into his hand and offering it. Three hens promptly descended on the insufficient pile. “ _No_ , use your manners,” he insisted, withholding the food and yelping as they pecked at his knuckles. “ _Ow_.”

“Can we send digital Halloween cards? I’m putting this on the cover,” Tony said, confirming Steve’s suspicions.

“Nobody sends Halloween cards,” Steve grunted, not caring that times had changed and traditions, too. “I hate chickens,” he decided, letting them peck more feed out of his hand. “No common courtesy. Look at them, it’s like _Lord of the fucking Flies_.”

Tony laughed. Steve didn’t see what was so damn funny as he shook out his hand, covered in tiny, bloodless peck marks. “Gimme another bag of feed,” he said moodily. Ever-prepared, Tony chucked it at his head. Steve scooped it up before the hens could, told the chickens sternly, “ _Nicely_ ,” and began distributing the feed carefully.

It didn’t work, but at least it boiled his blood less that they were _consistently_ rude.

* * *

“Oh my God, Tony,” Steve said. “That’s gotta weigh a hundred pounds!”

“One-twenty, actually,” Tony gasped, dropping the pumpkin back in the patch. “Huh? Add it to the pile?” he huffed, hands on his knees.

Steve looked at the rickety red wagon already stacked with six pumpkins. “Tony, I don’t think it can—”

“Oh, come on, _sport_ ,” Tony said, scooping up the monster and piling it improbably onto the wagon. “Where is your _sense_ of _adventure_?”

“About a quarter-mile back,” Steve drawled, referring to the grassy lot they’d parked in. Real discreet-like—except for the improbable number of pumpkins he had managed to chuck into the poor red wagon, trembling on its last legs. “Tony, I thought we were getting _one_ pumpkin.”

“The family pumpkin?” Tony asked dubiously, squinting at him behind dark sunglasses. “On a scale of _nine_ to _ten_ , how bad of an idea is that?”

Steve pictured Sam, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Rhodes, and _Thor_ seated at a table around a single modest-sized pumpkin and a single knife. He sighed and turned back towards the seller’s table. “I’ll get another cart.”

“Great!” Tony beamed. “Be right back, I’m gonna make tracks—” And then he disappeared at a light jog for even more legendary pumpkins.

Steve parked the first cart next to the salesman, who asked with apparent sincerity, “Big family?”

“Yes,” Steve said, bringing the cart to a laborious halt in the mud near her.

“Aw. That’s sweet of you.”

“We try,” Steve said, passing her a ten-dollar bribe. “Mind keeping an eye on them? We’ll be back.”

“Terrific,” the gal said, nodding once. “You go on ahead to your cart’s content.” She winked.

Steve frowned grimly. “I’m sure we will.”

* * *

Seated on a carriage driver’s bench, the Headless Horseman asked them cheerfully, “So, you two new in the area?”

Sitting on the bench behind him, Steve replied, “You could say that.” Looking at Tony pointedly, Steve made an explicit gesture towards his neck, then frowned questioningly at the Headless Horseman in front of them. Tony shook his own head, like he couldn’t understand how a headless man was speaking to them, either, which was a blatant lie.

“Well, we’re always happy to see new faces,” the Headless Horseman said brightly, flicking the reins once to encourage a pair of black horses to carry on down a marked dirt path. “I wouldn’t know,” he added with a touch of affected gloominess. “My face and I have been separated for some time.”

“That must be very hard for you.”

The Headless Horseman bobbed forward a little, miming a nod. “It’s not the same. But my neck is enjoying the breeze.”

Tony laughed. Steve said seriously, “That’s a perk?”

“Oh, yes,” the Headless Horseman said, turning to face them, black clock hitched up neatly to his neck. “Although—I do miss hats.”

* * *

Steve was positive that they had exhausted all the Halloween-related wonders available in a thirty-mile-radius when Tony pulled up to the apple orchard.

“Tony,” Steve said, because it was _actively raining_ , and he really just wanted to go home and maybe, oh, snuggle with his sweetheart in front of the fire, wasn’t that a hip and fun thing the kids did these days?

No, instead he had to listen to the oldest man he had ever met cheerfully tell them, “You kids are the last for the day, I reckon, go, have fun! Fill ‘er up!” before swatting at their ankles with his cane.

Steve grimly refused to stand under the umbrella Tony popped open, insisting, “No, if we’re picking apples in the rain, then I’m picking apples in the rain.”

“Suit yourself,” Tony said. “Hey, grab that big one, on the top—” And proceeded to tell him exactly which apples to grab.

“This one has a wormhole,” Steve told him, showing him the newest apple.

Tony scrunched up his nose. “How ironic.”

* * *

Old Man Sam—no, really—insisted that they try his candy apples. While Steve couldn’t take offense to the candy apple—it was singularly _delicious_ —he did mourn the state of his jeans as Brutus the Bloodhound sat next to him on the covered porch and drooled copiously on his knee. 

“Attaboy,” Steve told the dog, patting his head once, hoping he might move on to riper pastures or, at the very least, drier knees. No such luck—the Bloodhound merely thumped his tail against the hardwood floor, pleased by the attention.

“That’s Pop,” Old Man Sam was saying, showing off a monochrome photograph of a man in uniform. “He was in the first War.”

“No kidding?” Tony said, in the tone that clearly said, _Hey, Steve, look_.

 _Bit busy_ , Steve didn’t need to reply, grimly pinned underneath the Bloodhound’s chin.

Clint kept texting pictures of what appeared to be chaos at home—flour all over the floor, an entire pumpkin set aflame fire, [Thor](https://cdn.deguisetoi.fr/images/rep_art/gra/167/7/167769/deguisement-de-touriste-hawaien-homme.jpg) lying upside-down on the couch, wearing a straw-hat, Hawaiian t-shirt, and shorts.

Somewhat desperate to be home, Steve began, “Tony, we really should—” but if Tony heard Steve over his shared laughter with Old Man Sam, it was a miracle.

“And then, I says to him, I tell you, I says, _You ‘ave got to be kidding me, that ain’t no cat, that bitch is a bear!_ ” Old Man Sam chortled.

Apparently bored out of his mind—he was texting _Steve_ , after all—Clint sent another picture, this time of himself wearing [a truly inspired outfit](https://images.halloweencostumes.com/products/38324/1-1/mens-funky-disco-plus-size-costume1.jpg), which included dark aviators, red suspenders, and an exotic metal-blue long-sleeve. He was gulping milk straight from the bottle, apparently just to spite Steve.

In the background, the younger Sam, who was wearing a cowboy hat and matching tanned vest, was face-palming.

“—chased me right up a tree,” Old Man Sam wheezed, “yanked me right back down! Thought I was a goner. Biggest surprise of my life, I’ll tell ya—”

“This is much nicer than being at home in front of the fire,” Steve told the Bloodhound in a sarcastic undertone.

Brutus woofed once in agreement.

* * *

Steve said, “Tony, _no_ ,” but Tony turned big puppy eyes on him, well aware of their potency as he wheedled:

“One more. Just one.”

And that was how they ended up at a Halloween store. Steve sighed, “We already _have_ costumes, we’re forty-five minutes late, and,” he pulled out his phone to show Tony the carnage that was the living room, where some sort of glitter cannon had exploded, “ _Clint_ is in charge.”

“I told him he could have one day a year,” Tony admitted, putting a witch hat on his head jauntily. “Look, Steve, I’m a witch.”

“Tony, we had witches,” Steve said wearily. He had asked Tony to explain one too many Halloween characters—he still didn’t understand what an _Oogie Boogie_ was, except that was probably the point—and now, Tony took pleasure in explaining even the most self-explanatory outfits.

“Salem witch trials,” Tony said with a grievous nod, replacing the hat and patting Steve on the chest, turning towards a rack of pirate hats instead. “ _Ooh_.”

“No,” Steve said, putting his foot down. “Tony, we _have_ costumes.” He had been deeply opposed to the idea—only children dressed up, and _young ones_ at that—but Tony had insisted that he dress up or sleep outside. When Steve had promptly agreed to sleep outside, Tony had turned the same puppy eyes that had landed them at a Halloween store, and that had been that.

It all seemed frankly ridiculously. They were already disguised—public outings weren’t the same as a celebrity. And since Tony had won the Halloween costume debate, they had even _more_ disguises at home. And they had their uniforms. Really, the whole exercise was beyond Steve.

“This is for children,” he said aloud.

Tony finished winding a red feather boa around Steve’s neck, said, “I think you’ll do,” and waltzed off.

Steve sighed, replaced the boa on the rack grimly, and followed.

* * *

“Why seven?” Steve asked plaintively, as Tony tossed seven fake crows onto the checkout conveyor belt.

Tony frowned at him. “You know what? That’s a great point.” Then he walked away, leaving Steve alone with the cashier and the cart half-full of unnecessary trinkets—including, he was disappointed to see, another boa. Thirty seconds later, Tony was back, carrying three more fake crows. “O-G seven is now O-G ten,” he said cheerfully, dumping the extra ravens onto the belt.

“Nice,” the kid at the register said. “You know, it’s buy nine, get one free.”

“Really?” Tony said, sounding surprised.

The kid nodded, pointing at a sign that clearly displayed 10% off all Halloween items. “Yup.”

“Nice,” Tony echoed.

Steve face-palmed.

* * *

“Wow, gee, Mr. Rogers—Captain—sir—ma’am—uh!” Parker panicked. “I didn’t mean that, I-I—oh, neat,” he said, as Steve handed him a crow. “Wow, cool, can I keep this?”

“Yes,” Steve said wearily. “You may keep it.”

“Oh, neat, that’s cool—I’m gonna call him Sampson. Hey, guys! Look what Mr. Rogers—fuck—I mean, shit!”

Sighing, Steve turned and asked Tony, “Is this a mandato—”

“I thought you were the mother of the family,” Tony interrupted, holding a bowl of candy. 

Steve swiped the bowl from him. Tony pouted and said, “Hey, paws off my hard-earned stolen dough.”

In the other room, Sam was saying, “Kid, you can’t _call it_ that, that is _my_ name.”

“Oh, yeah, I hadn’t thought about that—sorry, Sammy—I meant the bird, uh, not you, Mr. Wilson—well, this is awkward. What’s yours named?”

“Jimothy,” said Sam.

“Fuck you,” replied Rhodes.

“Hey,” Steve called around the corner. “Watch it.”

“I’m older than you,” Rhodes replied, appearing in full [Jedi garb](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/swg/images/c/c5/Obiwan1.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20060320133924).

“ _Sick_ ,” Tony said, stepping forward and embracing him so firmly they _thumped_ into the wall. Rhodes made a pained expression that cracked the shell of Steve’s weariness, making a real grin grace his face as Rhodes patted Tony’s back gingerly.

“I missed you, honeybear,” Tony said, letting go. “Next year, we do two Halloweens.”

“No,” Rhodes said. Sam emerged around the corner, his crow improbably tethered to the shoulder of his cowboy uniform. When Tony finally let go and stole the candy bowl back from Steve, Rhodes told him, “God help me if I’ve forgotten the corn maze.”

“Corn maze?” Sam asked gravely.

“Don’t ask,” Steve and Rhodes said at the same time.

Tony pouted and pinched Steve’s side in passing. “ _Rude_. I’ll be back.” He sashayed off.

Sam looked Steve up and down. “Where’s your costume?”

Steve said wearily, “I don’t have one.”

“Liar!” Tony called back loudly.

“Fair’s fair,” Rhodes reminded.

Between the two of them, Steve really did feel outnumbered. “I don’t _need_ a costume,” he said mulishly. “I _have_ a costume, it’s called a _job_.”

Sam grinned; Rhodes maintained his stoic frown with the sort of commitment only years of practice with Tony Stark could give. “Well,” Rhodes said tonelessly. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

Sighing, Steve handed him the bowl of candy—Sam pouted, “C’mon, man, I thought we were a team”—and trudged into the main room to see the damage.

It was actually worse than he thought. A small pack of Roombas were heroically trying to clean the glitter-and-flour covered floor. In the backdrop, the eternally flaming pumpkin sat in a clearing near the hearth, crackling menacingly. The Parker kid was by the couch babbling about his new bird to Thor, who had two in hand and a solemn expression on his face, despite his getup.

Clint and Natasha were in the kitchen; Natasha had a seat on the counter with her crow beside her and what appeared to be an entire tray of sugar cookies shaped like bats on the marble countertop. 

Dressed from head-to-heel in gaudy shimmery silver and blue, Clint was dancing in the kitchen, bobbing his head and shaking his hips to an upbeat number that did not, even slightly, resemble a Halloween song. 

Open bottles decorated the candle. Steve had the distinct impression that the room’s overall inebriation level was well above a five-outta-ten.

“What, it’s a _tradition_ ,” Clint wheedled, which was fast becoming Steve’s least favorite word. “Besides, you can only listen to _Monster Mash_ so many times, _Boogie Wonderland_ is a goddamn _classic_.”

Steve didn’t care if _Boogie Wonderland_ was written by God himself as he ordered J.A.R.V.I.S., “Cut it out.”

“Sorry, sir. Master Stark has issued orders to _keep the tunes coming_ ,” said J.A.R.V.I.S. “I _can_ replace the song, if you—”

“No!” howled Clint. “It’s a _classic!_ ”

Evacuating the dancefloor, Steve waited until the door to the balcony room shut before letting out a deep sigh.

“Boo,” Bruce deadpanned, cowering back as Steve jolted and turned to face him. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I just—” He pawed at his [sheet-covered head](https://www.fancydressball.co.uk/big_images1/adult-grim-reaper-costume1-44353.jpg), explaining, “Earplugs.” 

Steve slid the door back and shoved the oversized ghost forcibly inside the balcony room, ignoring Bruce’s meek, “You seen Tony?” before shutting the door on him.

Sighing again, Steve flicked his gaze up and down the hallway before proceeding.

* * *

“Explain to me why Romanoff doesn’t have to wear a costume,” Cowboy Sam demanded as he flicked the _Twister_ spinner again, half-doubled over Bruce, who was trying desperately not to slip on his own white sheet.

“She is wearing a costume,” Tony said, looking sleek as hell in his [astronaut costume](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e9/20/d9/e920d9d27e7d86585de9b542b79564b6.jpg), [blue face-mask](https://images.alphacoders.com/676/thumb-1920-676268.jpg) down, “it’s called _witch_ —fuck,” he yelped, as Natasha threw a break-resistant plate at the back of his head. “Don’t give me a concussion on _Halloween_.”

“Not Halloween,” Natasha reminded. She took another cookie that was pointedly on _Steve’s_ half of the tray.

“Oh, well, that explains it,” huffed Sam, as Thor spun the spinner with a little too much force, nearly detaching it. “Hurry up, big man, some of us are—”

“I move at my own pace,” Thor dismissed, smacking a hand on the mat firmly, leaning what appeared to be all of his weight on Bruce.

Still hidden in his white sheet, Bruce wheezed, “You’re _so heavy_.”

“Stark, get in here,” grunted Sam, barely holding it together, gripping the mat.

“Too busy,” Tony dismissed, pacing the room, drink in hand, showing off, a little. He had spent weeks on the astronaut suit, and the results spoke for themselves. Given that it was a mere side project compared to his Iron Man suits, Steve was more than impressed. Best of all, Tony was happy.

Steve didn’t mind being banished to the costume-free Avengers’ corner. Romanoff was a breath of fresh air, and Rhodes had joined them to avoid being enlisted into a four-man pretzel. It was almost a normal evening, actually, minus the costumes.

“I call winners!” announced the Parker kid.

“Kid, you’ll be crushed,” reminded Tony.

“Aw, c’mon, Mr. Stark,” the Parker kid insisted.

“Fine, but it’s your kidneys,” Tony said, kicking a snoring Clint with his foot. “Up and at ‘em, sunshine, we haven’t even ordered pizza.”

“Pizza?” Clint snuffled, sitting up. “Where’s the pizza?”

“We haven’t ordered it yet, dumbass,” Tony told him. “Go.”

Grumbling, Clint got up, fumbling for his phone and saying, “Have to do everything in this fucking family.”

Steve let out a huff of laughter, retrieving another cookie from the tray and reminding Clint, “At least it’s just one day a year.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint grumbled, stepping aside to make the call.

“Hey, can we get one with olives?” the Parker kid said, trailing after Clint. “I want one with—”

“Everything pizza,” Clint told him. “Everybody’s equally unhappy, eat it or leave it.”

“Awesome,” the Parker kid said.

A song came on and Natasha sighed, “Not again.”

“We should watch this movie,” Tony said at once, pointing like she’d had a great idea.

“What movie?” Steve asked warily. 

Tony bobbed his helmeted head a little, holding up a white-gloved hand in a universal, _Wait for it_ , gesture that was rewarded as the singers cheerfully announced, _Ghostbusters!_

“Look, Brucey’s even dressed for the occasion,” Tony said, pointing at Bruce, who looked one breath away from catastrophic failure as he strained to flick the _Twister_ spinner.

“Can’t talk right now, Tony,” Bruce replied. He groaned as he announced, “Left foot blue. I can’t—”

“Hold it together, Banner,” grunted Sam. “We can’t lose to—”

“I _can’t_ ,” Bruce whined back. “That’s _impossible_. I’ll—”

“ _Bruce_ ,” Sam growled.

Bruce dug deep, and jumped his left foot from the green circle on the far left to the blue circle on the middle-right. He said tensely, “Go, go, go,” and Sam obeyed.

“J., put _Ghostbusters_ on—you can kill the music,” Tony added graciously.

Flaming pumpkin in the background and the promise of a very belated dinner in mind, the atmosphere shifted from Party Central to just another evening at the Avengers Tower. Steve was grateful for it, sweeping up the floors to help the poor Roombas out, unsuccessfully attempting to shake the glitter that ended up in his socks. “Who the hell got _glitter_?” he asked no one.

The gang had settled on the couches in front of the holographic screen, watching a movie that he’d never seen before and was therefore his civic duty to consume at least once, but he didn’t finish tidying up the kitchen until a giant marshmallow was terrorizing the city on screen, and sighed as he realized it was the _climax of the film_.

“This movie’s weird,” Clint said suddenly from the floor, lying on his belly with his chin in hands.

“Charming,” Tony corrected, lounging on the couch in his _paint me like one of your French astronauts_ pose. “It’s _charming_.”

Thor and the Parker kid were seated side-by-side too close to the screen, several boxes of pizza piled between them. The curled-up white sheet was snoring in a nearby chair. Sam and Rhodes had their heads together over a coffee table, busy solving a 1,000-piece puzzle. Natasha alone maintained her distance, alternating between watching Steve and the movie. She had four crows with her.

“Seems like you’re the real winner,” Steve huffed at her, dumping candy wrappers into the trash.

Shrugging, Natasha said, “Games are for children.”

“Thank you,” Steve said honestly. “That’s what I’ve been—” He sighed as a red feather boa landed around his neck. “Saying,” he finished.

Tony said, “You just need to get in the Halloween _spirit_.”

Steve shrugged the boa off, holding it out to Natasha, who raised her eyebrows pointedly. “ _I_ don’t need it,” he grumbled.

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Natasha deadpanned.

Grumbling, Steve tried to pass the buck to Tony, who had already returned to his couch, like he had never left. “Tony,” he complained.

“ _The Shining_ or _The Haunted Mansion_?” Tony asked.

“ _Shining_ ,” Clint chimed in.

“Kid?” Tony prompted.

“Oh, uh—well, I’ve never seen—”

“ _Haunted Mansion_ it is,” Tony finished. “J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

Clint whined, “Aw, come on, I never get to pick—”

“This is a family-friendly movie,” Tony said. Rhodes and Sam were absorbed in their puzzle, while Thor was staring with solemn intentness at the screen. Bruce continued to snore audibly halfway across the room.

Realizing he was somewhat missing out on the festivities, Steve gave the room one last once-over—trays put away, floors swept, pizza boxes tallied—and ventured over to the movie goers.

He figured that Tony would move his feet once he showed up, but Tony continued to take up the entire couch, looking at him and saying pointedly, “Password?”

“Tony,” Steve grumbled. He just wanted to watch the _movie_.

“Password?” Tony repeated.

Sighing, Steve retreated back to the kitchen area. Fine—it wasn’t like the _Parker_ kid had on a costume, why did _he_ —except the Parker kid _did_ have a costume, he was clearly wearing a marked shirt. “What’s your costume, kid?” Steve asked, disgruntled and not above showing it.

“Me?” the Parker kid said, turning around and beaming, “Oh, [I’m Ian Malcolm](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/81/b6/db/81b6dba398fa6deed6baaa07a17c0556.jpg). You know, _Jurassic Park?_ Here, I can—” he tripped over Thor, who continued to stare intently at the screen, and shoved his phone under Steve’s nose. There were four kids, including Parker and a mottled green dinosaur. Parker had his arm around the dinosaur’s shoulders. He was blushing ferociously. “That’s Mary Jane, she’s the—”

“Dinosaur, yeah,” Steve said.

“ _Velociraptor_ ,” Parker corrected. “Ned’s Alan, you know, the lead paleontologist on the dig?”

“Yes, son,” Steve said, his weariness lending itself to the moniker, “I know who Alan Grant is.”

“Oh, cool. Hey, you could be the _T. rex_ , if you want—”

“He has a costume,” Tony interjected.

“Oh, neat!” the Parker kid crowed. “Where is it? Can I see it?”

Steve sighed. He would not be getting out of this one. “Wait here.”

“Cool, but, also, the movie’s starting, so—” He scampered off to reclaim his seat.

Steve retreated to their shared bedroom. Thankfully, it was the one stronghold against the “spookiest season of the year:” he had held his ground that they needed _one_ Halloween-free zone, and this was it. Already resigning himself to missing the movie, he stripped and showered, scrubbing off the day’s excitement.

He was a creature of habit, and Tony’s spontaneity—while rarely unenjoyable—had a tendency to leave him unmoored, like he’d forgotten to tie his shoes or bring in the laundry before a storm. He took his time with it and only arrived at a new dilemma as he realized he could dress in evening wear or in costume.

He didn’t really _want_ to put on the costume. It was nice of Tony to think of him, and make it for him, and even compromise when Tony insisted that the first version was far too immodest, but he felt deeply silly wearing most clothes outside of his comfort zone, and nothing said _outside of the comfort zone_ like a Halloween costume.

Oh, well, he thought grimly, putting it on. It was surprisingly well-made, nothing like the tomfoolery that graced the shelves of the so-called Halloween stores. The leather was real and supple, the armor heavy but not pinching, especially with the under-shirt that he threw on first. His legs were still exposed below the knee, but the matching boots strapped up to his calves, fitting firmly enough that he knew Tony had made them from scratch, too.

Tony was an obsessive builder, eager to make anything from scratch that did not need to be store-bought. It should not have surprised Steve that even the red cape fit perfectly, but it did—he ran his fingers over the fabric and dared to think, _This is amazing_. He didn’t think it _too_ loudly, afraid the party would materialize in his sacred space. He did chance a look in the mirror, admiring Tony’s handiwork and the way it did, in fact, suit him.

 _Stolen valor_ , he’d argued once Tony latched onto the [Roman guard](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d8/d3/e2/d8d3e2db78debe51d6bcd09eff941bd2.jpg) idea.

 _The Roman empire hasn’t had valor to give for fifteen hundred years_ , Tony had retorted.

Indulging Tony’s vision, Steve retrieved the huge red shield—twice the length of his own and decidedly heavier but still easy in his hand—and the short broadsword in his right. 

Steve relished the feel of them, relished the weight of the armor, the way it made him feel strong and covered. He could _fight_ in this—bloody and close-quarters, but with far more mobility than he had anticipated from any kind of metal getup. _The Romans were smart_ , Tony had insisted. _They didn’t fuck around with their gear_.

Impressed and humbled that Tony would go to the effort, he replaced the shield against the wall, along with the helmet, and kept the sword. Halloween was two days away—he could save it for the big day.

Even Sam didn’t come back with an immediate witty comeback: he just said, “Damn,” as Steve passed through the door, cape swishing elegantly behind himself.

“Ah,” Thor said with real pleasure, sitting up. “A proper brother-in-arms.”

“ _See_ ,” Tony drawled, still presiding on the couch as the movie credits rolled. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve murmured. He set the sword on the table, sat firmly on the couch next to Tony’s feet, and huffed as Tony flopped around. “Doesn’t that—hurt?”

“Yes, actually, I’m wailing in pain in here,” Tony deadpanned, snuggling firmly on top of him, covered in his own kind of armor.

“I want a _sword_ ,” Clint whined from the floor.

“Get your own sword, disco boy,” Tony snarked back. “Lovers only.”

Clint gagged. Sam laughed, a high, unexpected burst of sound that made Steve grin. The Parker kid was too busy saying, “Whoa, is this a real sword?” to pay any mind, while Bruce continued to snore loudly in his chair. Natasha was indifferent, or at least, not bothering to chime in with an opinion. Then Steve heard a muffled sawing noise, and Tony yelped, “ _The pumpkins_ ,” while sitting up fast enough to fall off the couch.

 _So much for cuddling with my sweetheart_ , Steve thought, peering over the back of the couch at Romanoff, who was busily carving a pumpkin.

“Finders keepers,” she said.

“We almost forgot, we almost _forgot_ ,” Tony bemoaned. “How could we _almost forget_ the pumpkins?”

“Still got two days, Tony,” Steve reminded reasonably.

“This is so sick,” the Parker kid was saying, lofting the sword in the air. “Hey, Mr.—Captain Rogers, is this yours?”

“Technically,” Steve said.

“Sweet,” the Parker kid said earnestly.

Leaving Tony to squabble with a half-conscious Clint, slightly giggly Sam, stoic Rhodes, and snoozing Bruce over the distribution of pumpkins, Steve stayed where he was, content to lounge about as a new movie showed its face: _Hocus Pocus_. “Ain’t that a spell?” he said aloud.

The squabbling in the kitchen was too noisy for his voice to be heard. Thor, still sitting gravely in front of the screen, said, “Aye. It is.”

“Huh,” Steve replied.

* * *

The eternally burning pumpkin finally petered its last simmering breath around midnight.

“Aw,” Steve said, drawing attention to it while the rest of the gang sawed in near unison in their respective pumpkins. “’ey, Tony, look, it burned out.”

“Busy, dear,” Tony said.

“No, Tony,” Steve insisted, content and comfortable. “Tony, _look_. The flaming pumpkin burned out.”

One of the knives ceased sawing for a moment, and Tony said, “Son of a bitch, the flaming pumpkin burned out.”

“Mr. Stark said a bad word!” the Parker kid chimed in, his own noisy sawing pausing.

“Mr. Stark will be banning anyone under the age of twenty-one if they don’t _get over it_ ,” Tony retorted.

“That includes Barton, right?” asked Rhodes.

“Of course,” Tony said just as Clint whined back, _Hey_.

* * *

It was almost one AM before the party finally broke up. Thor, reigning _Twister_ champion, was the first to fold, insisting that he had had enough revelry for a single evening. It wasn’t long after before Tony said, “Hey, mind cleaning up the rug while you’re at it?” and Thor hefted a snoring Bruce over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Sam tipped his hat at them and smuggled three sugar cookies on the way out. Rhodes stuck around. Natasha folded: “I’m out.”

“No, hey,” Tony whined. “You can’t go, you’re the life of the party.”

“Goodnight,” Natasha said firmly.

Tony was right—no sooner had Natasha left than Clint pried himself off the floor and the Parker kid yawned, “Gee, I think I’m gonna hit the hay, hey, are we still doing breakfast in the morning? I could really go for—”

“Goodnight,” Tony told him.

“Yeah, goodnight!” the Parker kid yawned back, waving at them. “Night, Captain Rogers, sir.”

“Night, kid,” Steve replied. “Be safe out there. Need me to walk you home?”

“Nah, I’m good—real good,” the Parker kid said. “I usually patrol ‘til—” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Goodnight!” And he was gone, too.

“Seems like a good kid,” Rhodes told Tony once he was gone.

“ _Go Fish_ ,” Tony murmured back.

“Tony,” Rhodes rebuked.

“What? I said _yes_ ,” Tony murmured, in the tone of, _Okay, I am ready to be carried to bed_ that made Steve huff from his position on the couch.

 _Yeah, me too, pal_ , he thought, huffing a little laugh.

Tony whined, “I have to do two more _days_ of this,” and it was Rhodes’ turn to chuckle.

“You do,” he said, clapping Tony audibly on the shoulder. “G’night, Tony.”

“G’night, honey bear,” Tony replied. “I love you more than a thousand suns.”

“Think it’s, _With the intensity of a thousand suns_.”

“No,” Tony said dreamily. “It’s the first one. And the second. Go, sun. Be free.”

Rhodes told Steve, “Night, Cap.”

“Night, Colonel,” Steve replied dutifully.

He _oomphed_ as Tony flopped on top of him. “Hey, hon.”

“Hey, hon,” Tony sighed back. “Did we do it?”

Steve wrapped a chain metal arm around Tony’s smooth armored back. “Do what?”

“Halloween,” Tony said. “Did we—”

“I mean, the eternally flamin’ pumpkin burned out,” Steve said solemnly.

Tony yawned loudly, expression hidden behind his helmet. “Yeah. Yeah. It did.” He nuzzled his rounded helmet into Steve’s shoulder, musing, “But. Consider. Eternally flaming pumpkin, _part two_.”

Chuckling a little, Steve held onto him for a long moment, relishing the moment he’d been waiting for—many hours later than he’d expected, but still good. Always good. “I love you,” he said.

“I know,” Tony said back. “S’why we’re dating. Open line of communication.”

“Can you ever just take a compliment?” Steve mused.

“No,” Tony yawned back. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tony,” Steve said, kissing the side of the helmet briefly. “Thanks.”

“For?”

“Today.”

“Yesterday.”

Huffing in amusement, Steve said, “Stubborn. Maybe I’m just early.”

“You’re never early,” Tony grumbled back.

“I’m very punctual,” Steve replied, “s’long as I’m not distracted.”

“Good thing I’m there to not distract you,” Tony said. “Ugh. We have. So much. Hours. Days. How, Steve?”

Steve shrugged a little. “Guess we’ll just keep doing our best.”

“The crows were good, they were inspired.”

“Yes, I think they went over well,” Steve agreed easily.

“And the pumpkins.”

“And the pumpkins.”

“I’m a good king. Landlord. I said landlord.”

Chuckling, Steve futzed for the Iron Man release latches, not surprised when he found the helmet’s were in the same place, despite the different design. Steve set the helmet on the floor, reaching up to smooth Tony’s rumpled hair once. “Poor fella,” he said.

“Mm?”

“Helluvaday. Even _I’m_ tired.”

“Well, you are old,” Tony replied, eyes shut.

Steve rolled his eyes and kissed Tony’s forehead. “So sweet to me, Tony, what do I do to deserve it?”

“Foot rubs, mostly.”

“Really?”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“No,” Steve conceded. “I just—wouldn’t have thought that was a deciding factor—”

“Steve?”

“Mm-hm?”

“Shut up. I love you, too.”

Pleased, Steve said, “That’s more like it,” and enjoyed the fan of Tony’s warm breath across his neck, exasperated but fond.

Halloween sure was different than he remembered it. A lot more went _into_ it than a single night’s revelry for children.

He kind of liked it. It was growin’ on him, anyway.


End file.
